


An Education

by ICryYouMercy (TrafalgarsLaw)



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Gen, discussion of questionable experiments performed on the human body, discussion of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrafalgarsLaw/pseuds/ICryYouMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor Frankenstein has questions, and Dorian Gray seems to be the one who has the answers he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Education

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as me trying to fill a kink-meme prompt asking for Victor, high on morphine, losing his virginity to Dorian Gray, for science. Of course, it turns out that I am fundamentally incapable of writing smut, and this happened instead.

The first thing Victor does, once everything is said and done, and once he's had some food and rest and morphine, is to go and find Dorian Gray.

Because the Demon's mockery is still echoing in his ears, and Ethan's advice on shooting, and Victor knows how to touch someone's neck in order to perform various medical examinations, but none of those touches would be exactly gentle.

And he is too much of a perfectionist, too curious about all facets of the human experience, of the human body, to be willing to accept such a lack of knowledge on his part, especially when it would be comparatively easy to remedy. He is, however, at the same time, too much of a doctor to risk paying for the experience, as much because of the illnesses he could contract as because of the rather questionable legal situation. And he is too much of a scientist, too much of a scholar, to have much time or interest for courtship. And Dorian Gray, according to all the stories Victor has heard, would do perfectly to fulfil Victor's requirements, with rather less of the usual risks attached. And, what is probably the most advantageous aspect, he is rather unlikely to dismiss Victor, being rather too curious to waste a chance with a subject as naïve and careless as Victor.

So Victor washes, and finds clothes that aren't covered in blood or guts, and it's only when he finds himself alone on almost deserted streets that he realises that he might have done better to check the time before going out. But the sky is as clear as it ever gets over London, and the air is cold and still, and Victor knows that if he turns back now, he might never find the courage he needs again.

It takes him a few tries to find the man he is looking for, in a place near the docks that manages to disgust Victor as much as it intrigues him, and by the time he faces Dorian Gray, his clothes are once again stained with various unknown substances, and the tar-smell of his soap has long since been covered under the smoke and alcohol that permeates the air.

"Excuse me," is all he gets out, before Mr. Gray turns to regard him, looking perfectly debauched and yet equally clean. And everything else that Victor had prepared to say is swallowed in an all-consuming wave of shame and self-consciousness.

Dorian Gray, however, does not seem to mind Victor's silence any much. He considers Victor carefully, with a gaze that is rather pointedly not physical, never once stepping closer, never once catching Victor's eyes, something pure and almost clinical, and it sets Victor at ease in its familiarity. "I do not believe we have met," Dorian finally says, a command much more than an invitation.

Victor nods, shakes his head, adjusts his cuffs, takes a breath, clears his throat, coughs, draws another breath, feels himself blush, and finally manages, "No sir, we have not, sir."

Dorian keeps looking at him.

"I'm Victor Frankenstein, sir."

Dorian keeps looking.

"I worked for Miss Ives?", and Victor doesn't mean to make it a question, but he doesn't know what Mr. Gray is expecting to hear, doesn't know how to explain what he wants, what he needs, not in a place like this, not where everyone could hear.

Dorian keeps looking for a while longer, apparently still unsatisfied with the answer he received.

Victor starts fidgeting under his steady gaze again, regretting his decision more with every passing second.

"I'm Dorian Gray, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you prefer to find a somewhat," and here the slight smile on Mr. Gray's lips shows disdain as much as amusement, "more comfortable setting for this conversation?"

Victor nods, and then says, "Yes, sir, please. Sir."

***

It's easy, falling into step with Dorian Gray, Victor automatically walking two steps behind him, and half a step to his right. He doesn't know where he is being lead, doesn't think about the risk he is taking here, doesn't manage to muster any fear or distrust or worry, not after everything that has happened, not with the morphine still running through his veins, not with how naturally and calmly Dorian commands and expects to be obeyed.

They walk in silence for a while, and Victor desperately tries to rearrange his thoughts into a feasible plan once more. He can't help feeling that he would sully Dorian with his touch, that of the two of them Victor is the contagious one, the one who would stain and darken Dorian's unearthly purity.

The walk isn't helping, not when the smoke and fog settles heavily on Victor's hair and clothes, not when the streets they cross are damp and dirty, not when nervous sweat is soaking through Victor's shirt, and he feels sticky and uncomfortable in the confines of wool and linen.

With every street they move further away from the docks, Victor feels more out of place, feels more like an intruder, like some destructive and contagious foreigner, something in need of cleaning away.

Dorian doesn't give any indication of noticing, and yet the moment before the feeling becomes unbearable, he stops, turning to Victor, offering him his arm in a gesture that Victor doesn't quite know how to refuse, not without causing offense. And so he accepts, and it doesn't make him feel any less out of place, but it does make him feel as though maybe, Mr. Gray doesn't mind so much.

***

They eventually stop in front of a rather unremarkable doorway on a rather unremarkable street, and Dorian is all courtesy and politeness, inviting Victor inside, and taking his coat, and offering him something to drink, and inviting him to be seated, and Victor finds himself sitting on a violently purple armchair, a cup of almost over-sweetened tea, while Dorian leans against the only door leading out of the room. Curiously enough, it doesn't feel as much like a trap as it should.

"So, Mr. Frankenstein, I take it you had wanted to speak to me?", Dorian starts, as soon as Victor has set his now empty cup of tea aside.

"Yes, sir," Victor answers, feeling as though he should be standing at attention.

"What about?"

Victor looks down at his hands, and then at the table, and then at the carpet, and then at the door, just slightly to the left of where Mr. Gray is standing. "It has been brought to my attention that I seem to be lacking some insight into the human condition, Sir, and that it might be affecting my abilities as a doctor, sir, and I had been hoping that you, Sir, might be able to help remedy this situation."

"And what might that situation be?"

Victor doesn't blush, and feels embarrassingly proud of that small accomplishment, and yet does not manage to form the words required to provide and actual answer to Mr. Gray's question.

The quiet stretches to almost unbearable length before Dorian seems to realise that Victor is apparently not going to be answering his question. "Would you care to enlighten me at least as to the approximate nature of that situation? Is it a problem of a biological or of a social condition?"

"It, uhm, I wouldn't think it to fall clearly into either of those categories, sir, but, uh, it is a problem pertaining to, uhm, the, uh, the human body, sir," Victor stammers.

Dorian nods, a gesture between encouragement and command, and does not say anything at all.

"It, uhm, has been pointed out to me, sir, that, uh, my desire for cleanliness, might, uhm, have prevented me, sir, from making experiences generally thought to be, uh, an important part of any, uhm, young man's journey to adulthood, sir, and, uh, I have been told that you, sir, might be willing to assist me in remedying, uhm, this lack, sir."

There is the faintest of smiles playing around Dorian's lips when he answers, and Victor considers feeling mocked for just the shortest of moments, before he reminds himself that he is, rather probably, making a spectacle of himself, stuttering and stammering and being entirely unable to say the words he has been preparing for so long.

"I might be knowledgeable in all manners of subjects concerning the human body, but I would rather fail to see how my knowledge should be any more extensive than that of a doctor of your considerable skills?"

"It is not, sir, strictly speaking a medical problem, and as such rather more your area of expertise than mine. Of course, there are the usual medical consequences that might arise from careless choice of partners, or equally careless choice of assistive devices, and there is, of course, the field of psycho-sexual traumata, and the research into female hysteria, and there are various rather helpful books written about the treatment and cure of various such afflictions and troubles, but I had been alerted as to the fact that my lack of personal experience on concerning the subject might lead me to be rather less of a skilled doctor than I could conceivably be, and while, of course, there could be books found that might enlighten me to the psychological effects of…"

And here Dorian waves him off with a rather decisive gesture. "You have come to ask me to have sex with you?"

"Uhm, yes, sir, I think so, sir, I mean, I had thought, uhm, sir, that maybe, uh…"

And Dorian repeats the exact same gesture, once more. "Why?", he asks.

"I, uhm, it has been pointed out to me, uh, that, sir, the experience was generally considered, uhm, required in order to understand, sir, the human condition, sir, and that a doctor lacking personal experience might, uh, be deficient as a practitioner, sir, and, I had hoped you might, uh, help me, sir?"

Dorian seems to be considering this answer for a rather long while, before he speaks again. "You do not seem comfortable asking for this. Might you tell me why?"

Victor nods, and then shakes his head, and then shrugs, and then starts waving his hands in a rather helpless gesture of confusion. He feels almost certain that there would be an answer to this question, but he is equally as certain that he doesn't know it, and might not for a long time yet.

"Is it that you would object to the act itself?"

Victor mutely shakes his head.

"Then would you object as to me as a partner?"

Victor shakes his head again.

"Then what is it? The time? The circumstance? The idea?"

Victor shakes his head again. He doesn't know, he honestly doesn't, and it's so difficult trying to pinpoint it, when he has so very little idea of what it is he is asking for in the first place.

There is another moment's quiet while Dorian seems to reconsider the situation yet again. "Have you ever broken a bone?", he eventually asks.

"No, sir."

"Do you habitually go around asking people to break your legs, then?"

"No, sir?"

"Would you feel this affects your ability to set a broken bone in any way at all?"

"No, sir?"

"Then why are you here?"

"I just wanted to understand, sir."

"Understand what?"

"Why people do this. Why their desire to engage in such a hazardous pastime seems to over-ride any sort of human sensibility or restraint, and why even the most terrible possible outcomes do not seem to deter people in any way from performing all sorts of curious and unreasonable acts in their pursuit and practice of it."

Dorian nods, with a certain kind of relaxation, being faced now with a scientist in his element, and not a confused and helpless young man any longer. "Do you want me to touch you?", he asks.

"No, sir. Forgive me, sir," Victor says, and it feels like a revelation, as much as it feels like a failure, the realisation that no, he does not wish to be touched, not by Mr. Gray, and not by anyone else either.

"Do you want to touch me?"

And that question, that question is a rather difficult one. Because Victor doesn't think he could touch anyone the way their conversation would imply, but there is a certain degree of curiosity he cannot quite seem to suppress, not when presented with the possibility of experimenting, on a living body, see what traces his hands could leave, how to hurt or soothe or heal, feel the way a body functions, rather than just read about it. "Maybe," he concedes.

"But not in a manner that would be considered usual?"

And Victor has to concede this point as well.

"You are aware of my _situation_ , of course?"

"Yes, sir."

Dorian nods again. "I will not be having sex with you," he says. "I prefer my partners to be both willing and interested."

"I understand, sir."

"If, however, you happen to have any sort of specific question as to the effects of any sort of injury, foreign substance, or other outside influence on the human body, you are entirely welcome to perform any sort of experience you like on me."

And Victor, who has been mentally preparing himself to be sent away again, to never acquiring the sort of answers he had come looking for, freezes. "Excuse me?"

"You are welcome to experiment on me, if you find yourself wanting so satisfy any such curiosity or need."

"Thank you, sir," Victor manages, and then stops, unsure of what to say next. He knows he should feel grateful for an offer as generous as that, should realise that he has already been given far more than he ever though he could be offered, and he wouldn't wish to appear greedy, and yet, he can't quite bring himself to leave, doesn't want to spend the night alone, not when he still feels raw from a conversation he has barely managed to understand and process yet.

***

There is a touch to his shoulder and Victor shakes himself out of his thoughts, looks at Dorian in confusion, not having realised that the other man has moved so much closer.

"Come with me," Dorian says. "It's not safe for you to go home in such a state."

Victor doesn't know what to say or do in reaction to that statement, other than obey. So he follows Dorian through various rooms and corridors, unaware of the turns they take and the time that passes, the only solid connection with reality Dorian's hand resting carefully on his back.

They stop inside a bedroom, and Dorian moves to draw the curtains closed, and then Victor still hasn't moved by the time he turns back, he approaches him again, carefully and cautiously. "You should sleep," he says. "I can't offer you a nightshirt, but surely, you should at least remove your shoes, and your tie, probably?"

Victor nods. It's the only thing he does, still too far away in his thoughts to consider the task set to him.

Dorian's look, resting on him again, turns almost fond. "May I?", he asks.

Victor nods again.

And then Dorian kneels, short and light touches asking Victor to shift his stance and weight so that Dorian can remove his shoes. And then he stands, untying Victor's tie, loosening his cuffs and collar, unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, fingers never once touching the bare skin at Victor's wrists and neck, and once Victor is undressed down to his undershirt and trousers, Dorian stops once more. "May I?", he asks again.

Victor nods. And Dorian removes his trousers as well, careful touches never once resting for longer than absolutely necessary. This done, he guides Victor to the bed, folding back the covers, and tucking him in with utmost care. And then, as though he couldn't resist, he raises his hand once more, holding it just so far removed from Victor's hair as not to touch him, and Victor manages a somewhat sleepy smile at the unasked question.

And Dorian rests his hand against Victor's hair, thumb drawing a careless cross on his forehead, and then pulling his hand away, waiting for Victor to nod again, places a feather-light kiss on the same spot. "Sleep well."  
And Victor closes his eyes, and listens to the careful steps crossing the carpet, and the clicking of the door, and then sits up again. "Will you stay with me?", he asks, voice rough and low, almost too quiet to hear.

Dorian stops, hand still resting on the door handle, apparently waiting for clarification.

"Just, for company? It's, uhm, it's a big bed, sir, and, it would feel safer, having someone here, sir, just. Next to me, so, uhm, that I'm not alone, sir. Please, sir?"

There is no reply, and Victor lies back down again, embarrassed much more than tired, and tries to tell himself it didn't matter, it wouldn't matter, and when he woke up tomorrow, he would just forget this ever happened.

And then the covers are moved, and there is another weight on the mattress, and Dorian whispers, "Sleep well," again, and Victor reaches out to hold his hand while he finally falls asleep, for once not dreading the next morning.


End file.
